Break Every Chain
by Anera527
Summary: Skin color should not matter. In the world of Socs and Greasers, however, it does.
1. Chapter 1

" _ **Break Every Chain"**_

Chapter 1: Joseph

I was standing at the corner of Pickett and Sutton watching the cars go by when an unfamiliar black Challenger drove slowly by; it was slow enough that I could tell immediately that its occupants were looking for trouble. The flash of the sun through one of the open back windows highlighted a fine checkered shirt. I groaned. Socs.

What the heck were they doing back on our turf? It had been so quiet for the past couple years, especially since the rumble of That Night, that several of us greasers had become surprisingly lax in our own turf. I had welcomed the change, and I know my brothers Darry and Sodapop had too. The greasers and Socs feuding had cost too much.

The challenger passed me by without a pause but I could feel the Socs' eyes on me. I slouched more firmly against the pole behind me and let my cigarette dangle from my lips. I knew they recognized me. Even two years later I was still known among the Socs as the friend of the grease who had killed Bob Sheldon. They kept their distance.

And that was just fine with me.

Golly, that was a tuff car. The Challengers were brand new, a new design for Dodge, but I had already fallen in love with them. The deep black paint on this one made it sharp.

I watched as the car turned the corner, still on its prowl. I didn't know what they were hunting but it was nothing good, I was sure.

On a whim I flicked the ashy butt of my cigarette away and followed after them, hoping that nothing too terrible would happen—the last thing I either wanted or needed was Darry coming down on my back. I was too curious for my own good sometimes, though, and so I ambled along three or so blocks down along the east side of town. The Socs were heading into some pretty tough spots of the neighborhood—near Shepard's gang—and I decided that if they didn't turn off pretty soon I would go back the way I came. I may be near seventeen but I still ain't stupid enough to go into Shepard's part of town.

Then the Challenger paused for a moment, nearly stopped at the edge of the street—and then with a beautiful revving of its engine it was on its way again and I knew the Socs had found a target. I picked up my pace. It disappeared past a corner again and I heard door cars slam.

"Hey, darkie," I heard one Soc jeer, "we don't like seein' your darkie face on the streets!"

His companions laughed and tittered and I seethed quietly, remembering my own jumping a couple years ago. Over their laughter, however, I heard a surprisingly calm voice reply, "I don't want no trouble now. Let me go on my way."

"Listen to that, boys," the first Soc said, and I could imagine a large thin smile accompanying his words, "this darkie here thinks he can order us around. Think you'll learn to stay in your place after we finish with you—" He finished his sentence with a nasty word that my dad always said uttering aloud was talking white trash, and my blood about boiled over. I don't normally intercede in fights, especially when I don't know the guy getting jumped, but the Socs were way outta line. Before I could think it through I walked into view.

"Why don't you go back to your beer blasts?"

The Socs all turned as one—four of them, all big and expensively dressed. It was the plaid-shirt guy who was the leader. He scowled at me. "We'll deal with you soon, greaser," he assured me, "just as soon as we finish with this trash first."

"Don't," I warned; most times people would listen when I reach that tone. I've grown several inches over the past couple years and although I'll never reach the muscle capacity of Darry I'm still more than capable of handling my own now. Plus having Darry as the older brother/guardian had allowed me a lot of time to work on my 'warning' tone.

The Socs turned to me. "You're gonna get your ass kicked," Plaid Shirt said pleasantly. "We still haven't forgotten our own, you know."

Uh-oh. They were going to use Bob's death as leverage. They started to advance.

Then an empty beer bottle smashed across the back of one of the Socs, sprinkling pieces of glass everywhere—the guy swung in surprise and pain and a right hook to the jaw sent him staggering back and right into one of his buddies. Plaid Shirt rushed me but I was too quick for him, side-stepping out of his swing. He stumbled with a curse and turned hot eyes on me, wanting blood. We both landed a few good punches but then Plaid Shirt had his other buddy helping him and pretty soon I was being pushed against the wall. My right eye had taken a hit and I could already start feeling it swell, and my lip was dripping blood down my chin.

I probably would've gotten a decent beating then if it hadn't been for the guy I stopped the Socs from jumping. But he was a big guy even at his age, and his swings had a lot of power behind them. We managed to push the Socs back to their car and finally Plaid Shirt called it quits and peeled away in the Challenger. In a minute the only thing that said there had been a fight at all was our heavy breathing and the shattered beer bottle.

After I managed to catch my breath I turned. "Thanks."

He was a black kid, probably around my own age, with skin the color of cocoa. His smile was rueful as he met my gaze. "I think we're even. You stopped 'em."

"Maybe." I didn't feel like I had done much honestly but his smile was so thankful I didn't say that. "I just know how it feels to be jumped like that."

He was looking me up and down curiously, taking in my dirt-stained jeans and old shirt and hair. "Ain't never seen you here before," he remarked.

"I live a few blocks back," I said with a vague wave in the direction I'd come. "I saw the Socs coming and wanted to know why they were bothering us now."

"They don't normally?"

"Not for a couple of years."

He blinked; golly, I'd never seen the whites of someone's eyes stand out like his did. He reached out a hand. "I'm Joseph."

I took it, knowing it was his thanks. "Ponyboy Curtis."

And just like that, I knew I'd made a friend.

0000000

A/N: It's been years since I've written anything about my favorite gang. This idea came out of the blue while I was at work of all places so I had to start writing it up. Hopefully this will be different from the other stories that are out there. Sorry about the short length of this chapter. Next chapter will definitely be longer.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2: Not Fair**

Darry's fingers were gripping my chin a bit too tight as he looked at my eye. It throbbed bad, and my lip had started to crust over, but I wasn't too upset by it. For once I was actually feeling pretty good about my decision even with my injuries.

Darry looked none too happy as he finally let me go. "You better hope that your shiner disappears by the time the state comes round, kid."

Suddenly I wasn't too pleased; my stomach knotted as I realized what danger I had just placed our home situation in. "The Socs were planning to jump a guy, Darry." I still found I couldn't apologize for what I'd done. I never can. "I couldn't just stand by and let 'em do it."

I hadn't explained how the fight had started. Darry looked taken aback at the mention of the Socs. "Thought they were keeping away from this side of town. And you know better to butt into someone else's fights, Pony, you coulda gotten seriously injured—"

"He was a black kid," I interrupted, stopping him mid-sentence. "He doesn't seem to be from here, he didn't even know that the Socs were called Socs. But they caught him walking alone and cornered him and called him 'darkie' and—and—" I didn't want to say the other word out loud at all, even if it was just as an explanation; Darry would've washed my mouth out with soap if I'd dared, anyway, but he still got it. We all remember Dad's talks on decent conversation. "It's not fair," I finally burst out, angry. "We get jumped for being greasers but them Socs, they said they'd deal with me after they dealt with him, they jumped him just because his skin color was black."

"That's what happens, Pony." Leave it to Darry to look at it logically. He still looked upset but I think some of it was because he thought it was unfair too. "You know a lotta folks here don't think like we do when it comes to black people." He gripped my arm and led me into the kitchen, grabbing some ice from the freezer. "Here. Make the swelling go down some."

"I know," I said before I could stop myself. "I ain't a kid." I put the cloth-covered ice up to my eye anyway.

Darry paused, looking at me impassively. I was thankful that we had managed to mostly grow beyond our bickering stage, otherwise my comment would have led to a massively overblown argument. "That's what scares me," he replied, dead serious, and I realized what I had just hit him with.

I swallowed past a suddenly dry throat. "Dar, I didn't mean—you know I wasn't talking about—"

"Yeah. But Sodapop never meant nothin' by it either." And Sodapop was thousands of miles away now fighting halfway across the world because he 'wasn't a kid'. He made his way back into the living room, picking up a page of the day's newspaper from the floor as he went. "You're gonna be seventeen in a little less than a month. When you're eighteen you can legally be drafted."

"Maybe the war'll be over by then." It was an old hope, something we all tried to repeat as often as we could. Maybe the war would end soon. Maybe I wouldn't have to worry about being drafted. Maybe Sodapop would be home by Christmas.

Yeah. And Mom and Dad and Johnny and Dally weren't dead.

The look Darry sent my way shared the latter sentiment. Wholly unimpressed he placed the newspaper on the side table and sat down on the couch. I heard his knees creak and caught his slight grimace and I wondered if he had been dumb enough to try and carry two bundles of roofing again today at work. Darry always works too hard. It's both a blessing and a curse that with only two mouths to feed now his work load had lightened slightly, allowing him to put back some extra money.

"Darry, I wanted to ask you about something."

He looked at me half warily. He never knew what to expect when I said that. "What about?"

I wasn't sure how he'd react. But I was almost seventeen now. "I wanted to know if you were okay with me getting a summer job." I almost didn't want to ask; ever since I was fourteen I had fought with both Darry and Soda on the subject of me finding a job but both of them had refused, saying that I was still just a kid. I didn't need to find a job yet.

He was silent for so long I thought he would flat-out refuse again; but then he sighed. "Pony, you don't have to find a job now. This is your last summer before you graduate. You should enjoy it—"

"Darry, you know it's no fun for me to be here at the house all day all summer long. I near drove you and Sodapop crazy last year and you know it." He couldn't deny it, which worked in my favor. "Please. It don't have to be a full-time job. Just enough to get me outta the house for a few hours." I was hopeful now; he was thinking it over. He wasn't immediately telling me no.

"I'll think about it, Pony."

It was the best answer I was going to get at the moment but it made me grin.

0000000

That night I had a nightmare again. I had had them something awful after Soda was drafted but they had tapered off over time until they were virtually nonexistent again, so I was taken aback when they made a reappearance now. Darry heard me and was by my side immediately. I was trembling and sweaty and I had somehow managed to wrap my blankets around myself tightly and I struggled for a few moments to get them loose. When finally I didn't feel like I was being choked or suffocated by them anymore I laid back down with my face in my pillow; I felt Darry's hand on my back, rubbing soft circles into my shirt.

"Did you remember it this time?" His voice was soft in the darkness. Rough with concern.

I shook my head. "I think it was about the Socs." I never remembered what scared me but the older I got I started to realize that I could usually guess what the nightmare had been about just by how unsettled I was feeling. "Darry?"

"Yeah?"

"Do we have the KKK here?" As soon as the words were out of my mouth I realized that the nightmare had been about Joseph. Or at least about violence towards him. By the way Darry suddenly stiffened beside me I knew I had taken him aback but I wondered. I was still young enough that Darry tried to shield me from the worst violence going on in the country but I still read and overheard things. Vietnam. The soldiers dying out in the jungles. The Civil Rights movement. It was still going strong despite Martin Luther King's assassination two years ago.

"I don't know. I don't think so. Ponyboy, why are you worried all of a sudden-?" But then he remembered who I had interceded for against the Socs and his question faded. "There's nothing you can do if there is, kiddo."

"Don't seem right," I mumbled, half asleep again. Darry was getting almost as good as Soda was about putting me to sleep.

"No. It's not."

0000000

The sound of the television running woke me up the next day. Disoriented I looked blearily out the window and guessed that it was maybe ten or eleven and wondered why I hadn't been woken up by Darry earlier. My eye still throbbed but it luckily hadn't swelled closed all the way, but I was sure that I had one heck of a bruise.

It turned out it was Two-Bit in the living room, watching some animated cartoon about a pink panther. He had liberated the chocolate cake from the fridge and was currently sitting surrounded by three or four empty beer cans. I glanced at the clock. 10:36.

"Boy-howdy, kid," Two-Bit said cheerfully when seeing me. "Thought you weren't gettin' up today. If you're tryin' to catch some beauty sleep it ain't gonna work."

"Thanks," I said sarcastically, yawning into my hand.

He had a double take. "Whoa, what happened?"

"Got into a bit of a scrap with some Socs yesterday." I tried to say it as nonchalantly as possible; I didn't want to get into a full-blown discussion again.

Two-Bit's grey eyes grew stormy. "Thought they were stayin' outta our turf."

"They were. Hope they still are. Have you seen the new car, Two-Bit? The Challenger?"

The change of subject distracted him enough that he forgot all about our discussion. I poured a glass of chocolate milk but remembered the hard way it's difficult to drink with a busted lip. I'm sure Two-Bit noticed my winces.

"Want to come and help me find a job, Two-Bit?"

His expression turned so horrified I couldn't help but laugh. "What? And ruin my perfectly cultivated image? Been working on it for years, kid, can't just drop it."

"I'm surprised you even know the word 'cultivated'."

Two-Bit waved a finger at me but the humor on his face belied what sternness the gesture made. "Don't be a smartass, Ponyboy. You're supposed to be the quiet one."

I smiled innocently. "I grew out of that."

His grin turned positively dirty. "That ain't the only thing you've outgrown, Pony."

"Shut up, Two-Bit." I couldn't help the blush I could feel spreading across my face at his joke. Although it wasn't much of a joke when it was true. It had been known for some time now how I'd finally found myself interested in the opposite sex, and Two-Bit never let me forget that. His laughter followed me into the kitchen as I placed the empty cup in the sink to be washed later. After a second of looking at the fridge I shook my head, deciding against breakfast. Darry's note on the table was short and simple.

 _At work until 6. Have dinner ready by then, and clean up your room. See you when I get home._

He'd left me a dollar, probably guessing that I would be out in the neighborhood again today. Grinning, I pocketed it and slipped my shoes on. I'd have plenty of time to clean up my room later before Darry made it home; it was Saturday, and I had no intention of staying indoors all day.

"Goin' for a run, Two-Bit. Don't eat all of the cake this time, otherwise Darry'll make you bake the next one."

~/~/~/~/~

I didn't see any Challengers prowling around today, for which I was exceedingly thankful. With the summer on the way a lot of the town was busy, and there were enough small squabbles amongst the greasers and hoods to occupy our time. There was a drug rush in the streets, something that stressed Darry out to no end. There was a guy who was beaten to death with a pipe when he couldn't find the dough for his coke- a hood, tougher and meaner than Dally had ever been. That alone made me steer as clear as possible from dealing with drugs; it was just too dangerous to play that particular game.

"Hey, Curtis."

The familiar voice on the other side of the street made me pause. "Hey, Tim."

It had been close to six months since I'd last seen or even heard anything about Tim Shepherd; it was rumored that his own gang was turning against him, wanting to oust him as the leader. I did have to wonder about the origins of that since I knew that it couldn't have been farther from the truth. Tim demanded absolute loyalty from his guys, not so much in words but by his actions, and honestly if anyone else was in charge of his gang everyone knew that things would only grow worse; he had a network with ears and eyes everywhere, he knew everything that was happening pretty much as soon as it started. Only a handful of us knew the real reason why Tim had been off the radar for six months or so, and the only reason I knew was because Darry had been pulled into the mix.

My oldest brother and Tim had a real strange relationship. Not quite friendship, but certainly not enemies.

He ambled his way across the street, smoking a Kool. "Heard you were in a scuffle yesterday."

"It was nothin'. Barely had time to throw punches before they ran."

"Had time to knock you a good one, though, huh?" he remarked coolly, appraising my eye. "Look, Curtis, I'm here lettin' you know that the word on the street is that you helped out a darkie."

I thought I knew what he was meaning but I deliberately played dumb. "So?"

"Kid, you may not have much common sense but you ain't an idiot either. Them darkies are their own breed, they live in their own areas, and they fight their own fights. Mind your own business when you seem any of 'em. Helpin' any of 'em is only gonna cause you a lotta grief down the road. There are a lot of people who don't take too kindly to people helpin' out a darkie."

I stared at him as he turned and walked away, turning the corner to another street, suddenly feeling a cold shiver run down my spine. I'd read about lynchings before, and there were people out there who hated people like Joseph so much that they didn't hesitate to hang a white man too who associated with people like the friend I'd made yesterday.

Damn. Why did I always seem to make things more difficult when all I wanted to do was help?


End file.
